


No Guts, No Glory

by starkind



Series: This Is It Boys, This Is War [5]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), DC Cinematic Universe, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ass-Kicking, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drunken Confessions, First Time Blow Jobs, Gen, Iron Bat - Freeform, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Mild Language, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-04 19:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkind/pseuds/starkind
Summary: What happened after Tony and Bruce suited up and headed for Wakanda?This is -for once- a direct sequel to part IV.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> According to Marvel Wiki Earth-616, T'Challa and Wakanda faced many betrayals, hostile takeover attempts, and whatnot. This story does not refer to a certain canon scenario but rather goes down a vaguely-kept 'Something's been shady in Wakanda' route. In any case, Tony and Bruce's actions are not to be seen as mindless vengeance (except for Bruce settling a score with Steve, maybe ;)) 
> 
> (the upcoming MCU Black Panther movie might just set the record straight on all speculations about Team Cap et al anyhow)

The burnt remains of vegetation crumbled under an iron boot as it stepped along the ruins of Wakanda's former agricultural region, the one that had been close to the central district and the Vibranium mound. Mark 47's faceplate then whooshed open and Tony squinted against the change of luminance. “Fun times. Best not make this a repeat performance. Eww shit, this stuff smells way worse than bad weed.”

The tip of his tongue traced a cut on his bottom lip where he had bitten down and sliced sensitive skin during a particularly hard nosedive earlier on. “Status?” He coughed at the pungent smell in the air as he trudged through the wreckage the size of lower Manhattan. In an instant, his female AI was in his ear while Tony scanned the smoldering destruction with his own eyes.

_'Ammunition at code dark-yellow. Partial force field marginally mission capable at 40 percent. Sonic Pulse levels low. Unibeam at 34 percent. Urgent recharge of thrusters required. Leakage of the AC main panels. Capability of winning another battle at current armor deploy: Next to nil.'_

At that, her creator gave a lazy wave.  
“Ah, semantics. I'm talking about the other side, Fri.”

_'250 acres of illegal herb plantations burnt, soil fertilized to prevent regrowth. Vibranium resources down 37 percent. Casualties: None. Arrests: 42, among them former members of the royal guard and council. 500 GB in files holding possible cartel agreements have been confiscated. Also, Barnes has been apprehended. Current status: Cryogenic sleep.'_

That intel made Tony swallow. His eyes began to sting and water from the stench of sulfur in the air, but he forced down an urge to take off his gauntlet and rub them. If Wakanda turned out to be a lynchpin for corrupt business relations, things would get messy. Favoritism made for tiresome trials. Part of Tony hoped it would not come to that; he had always been fond of Wakandan tech and possible joint ventures.

He consoled himself thinking if T'Challa was not linked to any possible corruption, things might still end up on a mutual gains approach. Out loud, he cleared his throat again. “Swell. Initiate all necessary OPSEC* measures, organize secured storage rooms for the Vibranium and a sweet private jet big enough for two to sail home in, Fri. King-size bed, lavatory, and all that shiz. I'm in for some pampering.”

_'Will do, Boss. Good job.'_

The artificial pride in his AI's voice made him grin. Tony looked over his shoulder when the burnt soil shuddered from the weight and impact of a familiar black and gray armor. The suit walked into his direction, and Tony forced down a sudden stray thought on Rhodey and War Machine. He raised an eyebrow at the Adamantium-coated chest plate with its bat symbol and noticed it was scorched in several places.

“How's the eastern frontier looking, General Custer?”

His quip fell on deaf ears as Wayne's mechanically-enhanced voice answered. “Unmanned aircraft spotted 50 clicks away. Heavily armed and headed our way. ETA 10 minutes.” Out in the field, Bruce's lingo and behavior were of such military rigor that former DoD weapons' contractor Tony Stark had almost given in the urge to salute him, once. “Prolly their last attempt. Think we need to wing this one - I'm almost outta juice.”

At that, the Batsuit's faceplate came up to reveal an equally sweated and scruffy looking Gothamite.  
“Why did I let you rope me into this again?”  
Tony carved out his best cat-ate-the-canary grin, despite the bone-weary tiredness that wanted to seep through.

“Because even you like to go apeshit bananas every once in a while and can't do this on a larger scale in Gotham?” Bruce's ginger scruff morphed into clear distaste at his friend's insinuation. “No, I meant this. The visor. Half of it stopped working ten minutes into battle. The rest is annoying red warning codes. Weaksauce.” They glowered at each other from within their 6'6 suits in an odd mix of vexation and intimacy.

“That's because _someone_ just had to take his brand-new, prototype-y, rad-as-fuck Batsuit to go tech diving 200 feet below!” Tony pushed his jaw forward, but Bruce did not even have the decency to look the slightest bit sorry. Instead, he put his arms akimbo with a soft electric whir. “If that loose bit of Vibranium rock would have hit the bottom of the lake, this continent would be out there orbiting the ISS by now.”

Tony's Iron Man silhouette cocked one hip and tapped its foot. “So then, as matters stand, Mister Humblebrag-Look-How-I-Saved-The-Day, the benefits of your HUD clearly speak for themselves. You just went a week without having to shave, no need to thank me. Oh, and there's also that minor little fact of it saving your life at least a dozen times in the past 48 hours, but who's counting. Not me. I won't go into details. Nope.”

Bruce's bearded mouth twitched. “Seriously?” A manic grin spread out on Tony's features, and Bruce mimicked it. The slight bout of distress between them vanished as quickly as it had come. Tony figured it was one of those magic moments that would look amazing on the cover of the Times - if a photographer had been present. Both of them in armor, wild hair sticking out in all directions, grinning like loons amid the battlefield.

“Yes, seriously. By the way: Did I say thank you for taking care of you-know-who yet?”  
It took Bruce less than two seconds to go from charming lunatic back to gloomy brooder.  
“No. Don't expect you to, either. Leave it be.”

Even if Tony inwardly slapped himself for ruining a moment, he nevertheless was glad he had been too busy supervising the field instead of having to duke it out with his former gone-rogue team mate. For his part, Bruce had been eager to go up against the very Captain America; far too eager for his usual reserved nature. So far, Bruce had also remained far too tight-lipped about any details regarding their combat.

The only info Tony had been able to obtain was how Steve had been apprehended and locked away in a 'secured environment'. Not even Friday knew whatever and where ever that was supposed to be. Judging from the heavy indentures all over the Batsuit, however, Tony suspected Steve had taken being apprehended not too friendly. Their flight home across the Atlantic would hopefully give him enough time to pry.

“Still. Let me make it up to you for this gig's grand finale.”

Wayne's eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If I have to listen to that YMCA remix one more time, no one will ever get to see you alive.” Feigning shock, Tony put both hands atop his ARC. “First of all it's called the Jock Jam Megamix, you bully, and second I wasn't talking about that, but if you're into Village People, well..." The Batsuit's tactical visor snapped shut, leaving Tony to blink at its bright white glowing eye slits.

“Now I know this is a neat feature, but don't get all smart with me there, Boo. You of all people should just go and admit there's something to be said about six dudes in costumes.” A strangled sound that might have been a rude expression was masked off as a cough. Bruce's voice then turned factual. “Incoming at ten o'clock.” At that, Iron Man flipped his visor down and made an elegant, gauntleted gesture.

“After you, mon cher.”  
  
They rocketed up into the air like clockwork, with Iron Man drafting the Batsuit to save as much energy as possible. The sleek looking, dark metal enemy vessel opened fire the second they were on visual. Volleys of rapid machine gun fire rained down on them, to which Bruce and Tony veered out into opposite directions.

_'Thruster capacity at 18 percent.'_

Friday's calm voice module rang through the HUD. Tony rolled his eyes and simultaneously out of the way before a short-range missile would connect with his metal-clad body. “Hey, Boo, ever tried out those ionized canon babies while we're out here having fun?” When Bruce's answer came over the comm, it sounded a trifle breathless, seeing he was not used to the frequent exposure to high g-force like Tony was.

“Negative. Get out of the sky, your energy levels are dropping fast, Adamantium or not.”

The Batsuit zipped past him at Mach 1, only to drop speed and move into a barrel roll to draw the aircraft away from his friend. With a low growl, Tony engaged supersonic speed and caught up to him. “My suit's made out of Don'tgiveafucktainium, so I'll stay to wrap this up. You dial down on your martyr vibes there.” To reinforce his statement, Iron Man initiated his targeting system. Friday stayed silent but blinked a warning.

_'Wrong parallax. Target fuzzy. Optical sensor damaged. Energy levels below 20 percent.'_

Tony cursed over the comm, prompting Bruce to chime in again. “Abort mission, damn it.” By now Wayne's voice held a menacing tone. Blinking the sweat from his eyes, Tony said nothing. His HUD kept on blinking red until he managed to adjust the reticle on manual. Once the screen flashed green, Stark stopped grinding his jaw and steered all remaining power to his repulsors. “Now give me all you got, General. Bombs away.” 

Across the sky, he saw the Batsuit come to a vertical stop and raise its gauntlets. Iron Man did the same, and the unmanned vessel between them exploded in a wave of ionized vapor, molten bits, and metal pieces which tumbled down to earth. A grunt over the comm. “Remind me to deck you for that later on.” Once again, Bruce had that raspy Batvoice going on, to which Tony's expression turned mellow. “Aww, Boo, you wouldn't.”

“Fucking try me.”  
Behind his visor, Tony's eyebrows rose. Hearing Bruce curse out loud was a rare commodity.  
“I think now's a good time to mention how I'll make things up to you. Hint: It involves a bombass private jet.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * OPSEC = Operations security  
> source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operations_security
> 
> The jet Tony is mentioning could be one of those babies here:  
> http://www.embraerexecutivejets.com/en-us/jets/lineage-1000e/pages/design.aspx


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing they did aboard the private jet was downing two bottles of isotonic drinks each.

Their suits had already been dismantled and stored away in the luggage compartment, leaving them grizzled and shivering in their sweat-stale undersuits even before the jet was up in the air. “Go first, I need to make a call.” Bruce nodded into the direction of the shower stall in the back of the plane. When Tony did not move, he looked back up at him from the display of his phone.  
  
“Alfred.”  
It took less than a second for the harsh tug around Tony's mouth to ease up.  
“Ah, okay. My regards.”

He reappeared fifteen minutes later, hair still damp and brushed back and dressed a plain shirt and sweatpants combo, his feet bare. “Showering at over 500 mph sure works wonders for the mood. Get in there but don't clog the sink with all that scruff from your ugly mug.” He pretended not to have noticed the one-finger salute Bruce gave him before he rose and headed towards the lavatory.

When he was done showering and shaving and decked out in a combo similar to his friend, Bruce dropped into the opposite end of the crème-colored couch Tony occupied. By now, Stark nursed a bottle of amber liquid and eyed his companion. “Some shiner you got there. Courtesy of Cap?” Bruce's lips did that derogatory curl that showed he did not care and pointed his chin at the bottle. “Liquid breakfast?”

They were caught in between various time zones, but the sunrise across the wing of the aircraft was a good indicator. Tony shook his head and toasted him by taking a sip straight from the bottle. “More like liquid courage. There's some grub in the closet I think, but it might just be Oreos or Lay's.” Two brows knitted together. “For what?” Tony rolled his eyes at the absurdity of the question.

“For snacking? If you leave things to an AI who never needs to eat, don't expect a 3-course-meal.” Bruce's glower intensified. “Liquid courage - for what?” Something like embarrassment flitted over Tony's face and he ran his thumb along the bottle. “Ah, uh... forget it. I'm still a li'l high on that adrenaline and having weirdo thoughts.” Wayne ran both hands through his hair before going for a full body stretch.

“I should know a thing or two about that.” Tony's eyes narrowed at the rather leisure grunt Bruce gave to go with it, and at the way he exposed a fine strip of skin between his shirt and the waistband of his pants. Another slosh of whiskey. “Bet you do.” Oblivious to his scrutiny, Bruce cleared his throat and sat back upright. “We might not be talking about the same thing, though.” Tony made a clicking sound with his tongue.  
  
“We're not.”

He left it at that, and the Gothamite's battle-weary patience eventually wore too thin. “If you keep on crypt talking, I'm off to take a 24-hour nap. I'll claim the bed because you lied and it is only queen-size, so you take the couch as punishment.” Nothing followed, and Bruce made an effort to get up. Then there was Tony's foot on his thigh, stopping him. “I'll fight you for the bed if I have to, Brucie-Boo.”

Said man snarled with exasperation. “Rather spill while you're still able to talk in a coherent manner.” In a more than feeble attempt, Tony's other foot aimed for a kick to any part of Bruce's body, but he only ended up with both of his legs in Bruce's lap. “Fucker. Imma decent drunk, remember? All articulate and proper. Only time y'all get t'see me lose my shit is when I add some of that other, bad-bad stuff to the mix.”

Upon Wayne's disappointed and utterly derisive glare, Tony made a quick wobbling motion with his free hand. “Which I haven't done in ages, so calm your farm. I'm just a nice mellowed out drunk these days.” When Bruce put a steadying hand on Tony's feet, the latter made a purring noise and wiggled deeper into the couch. “I also wouldn't mind a decent little foot massage to go with this wonderful Macallan.”

The Gothamite did not move to either take the proffered bottle nor do any of the requested massaging. Tony harrumphed and wiggled his toes once more, again to no avail. “Guess I cannot interest you in either of the two. Bummer. But see how mellow I am about this? Half a bottle on an empty stomach and all you get is some sweet soul searching talk.” Bruce wiped his free palm over drawn features and sighed.

“As much as it pains me to admit, you are. Still, the question remains.”

“Huh?”

“Why are you downing whiskey like water?” At that, Tony propped one elbow up on the couch. His eyes took on a sharp glint that could have been due to the cabin's lighting. “Are you're saying I have an alcohol problem?" Bruce's fingers twitched around his ankles. “Diverting from the topic again, and you already know the answer to that. I just wonder why I didn't see you needing a drink before Wakanda, so something's up.”

Something like a pout, only a trifle more bitter flashed over Tony's features. “Topical parcour used to be way more fun with you back in the days, just so you know. Speaking of which, Buck Rogers still pwned Flash Gordon while we're at it.” With a sigh, Bruce cupped his bare heels in one hand, put them aside, and stood up. “Good night, Yogi.” The leather creaked as Tony slid deeper into a horizontal position.

“Fuck this reverse psychology shit. You're tryin to make me confess things I don' wanna.” The Gothamite took his attention away from the magnificent sunrise outside their jet and eyed him. “You don't have to confess anything to me. I'm not Father O'Flanagan.” At the mention of their long-gone priest from boarding school, Tony had to snort. “He'd be rolling in his grave if he knew what we're up to these days.”

Bruce's eyebrow arched. “Speak for yourself.” It was said without malice but made Tony nod around the bottleneck. “Good idea. I'm not dragging you into hell with me just cuz I got an itch.” Wayne's eyes narrowed just the slightest bit. He kept on staring down his friend who had gone over to slouching in the couch, whiskey balancing on his chest, one arm folded up behind his head.

“You're really trying to make this complicated aren't you.” It was not a question. Stark smirked to himself. “I'm so complicated, it is way beyond trying, honey-boo.” Tony then made a grand gesture with the bottle. “Because, you see, somewhere deep inside, I still hope you might go 'n fall in love with me. There. Pathetic isn't it?” Bruce put one hand against the jet's ceiling as the aircraft went through a small turbulence.  
  
“Tony--”

An index finger wiggled into his direction. “Nah-ah-ah. No need for vindications. I'm sore up to my eyeballs an' just as drunk. Gah, no, even more drunk. I'm so drunk I'll luckily forget what a fool I made outta myself right here and now once I'm back to being sober.” Tony took another swig from the bottle. “Which hopefully is never.” It was then that Wayne reached out and took the whiskey from his hand.

Before Tony could launch a petulant tirade, he watched Bruce put the bottle to his own lips and chug a good portion of the liquor in one sitting. Once done, Bruce wiped the back of a hand over his mouth and exhaled hard. "I haven't had sex in 18 months.” Two dark eyebrows knitted together in incomprehension. “Wha--?” Wayne's eyes kept on darting out of the nearest window as he pushed his jaw forward.

“The last person I slept with was a stripper called Timothy. I met him on a business trip in Chicago.” Tony slung both hands in front of his face and groaned into his palms. “God, don't tell me that! I'm somewhere between boner narcolepsy and erection rejection.” Bruce near-emptied the bottle with another strong gulp before he leaned over Tony who was peeking at him from between his fingers.

“Time to find out.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back in the heyday of summer, NegativNein encouraged me to type up the confusing draft that lovingly got called 'Grumpy Bat With Serious Firepower Going At Rogers & The Mile High Sexytimes'. Think that title would've been more fitting. Oh, well. Now autumn is here and I finally managed to sit down and do the thing. 
> 
> Sort of. 
> 
> Slight apologies for its garbled nature and for its 'not Steve Rogers friendly' content (protective Bruce Wayne is protective)

The blindfold was yanked from his head with a rough tug. He blinked several times and squinted at the sight of his shackled ankles. He was sitting on the floor to which the shackles were attached with a massive chain that did not allow him to straighten up into full vertical. His helmet was missing and there was a bitter, metallic taste in his mouth. He swallowed with what little saliva there was left.

“Captain.”

At the dark growl, Steve Rogers glared up and found himself looking at the same armored stranger who had taken him down in battle earlier.

~

_They found their way into the bedroom of the jet after Bruce finished off the remaining whiskey. He was now sprawled on the edge of the mattress, propped up on his elbows, and watched Tony struggle with the drawstrings of his sweatpants for the longest time, quirky grin on his lips.  
_

_“So seductive.”_

_“Ah, shuddup. I saw you checkin' me out back there.”_

_“Did not.”_

_“Totally did. I know I look hot in that suit.”_

_“Tall, too.”_

_“Fuck you, B.”_

_“Looks that way.”_

_Tony growled with unabashed desire, drawstrings forgotten, and pounced._

_With a fist curled into the front of Bruce's soft t-shirt, he pulled him up until they were nose to nose. “I’m gonna be honest here. I’m really really horny, and you’re really really effin hot. Can we fuck? Like, now?” All unfazed, Wayne's fingers traveled down his pants. “Is this gonna be a game changer?” From where he was straddling him, Tony glimpsed down to watch how long, expert digits played with the treacherous waistband._  
  
_“Yeah... no. I mean, I wanna have sex with you. Platonically if you must. No big deal. That is if you don't want a big deal, and only if you want this at all, beca...” Bruce interrupted his incoherent babbling by tilting Tony's head and licking at his throat. The latter moaned. “God, I wanna suck your dick so bad, can I-- is that okay?” With a resolute tug, the drawstrings of his sweatpants came undone._

_“It is.”_

_~_

“You cannot keep me in this cell forever.”  
At his stern voice, the dark armor crossed its arms over its massive metal chest.  
“Debatable.”

There was an almost cynical tone to the male, mechanic voice. Steve scrunched up his face and winced at the bruising that had not healed over yet, despite the serum. “You've got no business in this whole affair.” At that, the humanoid leaned down until Steve was forced to look right into its bright, artificial eye slits.

“I do now.”

He averted his gaze when the high-intensity LED light made his enhanced vision hurt. The floor of his cell was plated with a metal Steve suspected to be lead; likely to avoid exposure. His feet shuffled as he got into a less cramped position, making the chain jingle. “So what's Stark been paying you to play his lackey?”

“This isn't about money.”

Steve barked out a curt laugh.

“Really? Then what is it about?”

His opponent straightened back up to his full height and stared him down.

“Justice. You're going on trial, Rogers.”

~

 _Through a haze of rapture, Bruce heard himself make sounds he never thought he would make in public. Then again, he was not in public but 40,000 feet above ground, getting the best blowjob of his life. Something about his vocalization must have also seemed odd to Tony because he paused and looked up. “Sure I'm not corrupting you like back in the days?” Bruce's brain needed longer than usual to formulate a coherent answer._  
  
_“Ngh... tot'lly diff'rent.”_  
_Semi-coherent at least._  
_Tony's mouth stretched into a wicked smile._  
  
_“Still with me, Boo?”_  
_His hand made a stroking motion and Bruce had to stop his hips from thrusting upward._  
_“S-sure.”_

_He let his head drop back down on the mattress as Tony resumed his oral ministrations._

~

“Holding me hostage is against the Geneva Convention. Your version of justice is beyond warped.”

“Same goes for your morals.”

Steve gritted his teeth.

"Take off the mask and the armor. Show me who you are."

The iron suit did not move.

"Unnecessary."

"Chances are you'll be afraid to ever cross my path again once this is over."

A low snort erupted from behind the faceplate.

“This is over already. Chances are you'll never see Barnes again.”

~

_After Tony had sucked him dry, Bruce pulled him up to kiss his swollen lips. His hand went to touch the straining erection between them and Tony first jerked, then sobbed into his mouth. “Fuck, yes I-... need y--- this! Faster--- harder. Oh, fuck yes, c'mon..---” As his calloused palm gave a rather rough hand job, his tongue invaded Tony's mouth. The latter's release was as intense and imminent as expected._

_At the way Tony went limp in his half-embrace immediately after, Bruce became a little concerned._  
_“Everything okay?”_  
_A muffled moan, then the warm and dark heap at his side began to move again._

 _“Peachy. Gimme a sec. My head's floatin.”_  
_“Must be the whiskey.”_  
_“Must be you.”_

 _“I don't get you drunk.”_  
_“Thinks you.”_  
_“You make no sense.”_

 _“Just got the hand job of m' dreams, don' havet'a make sense.”_  
_“Now you're just going for cheap flattery.”_  
_“Depends on how good your mouth is.”_

~

Steve knew he did not stand a chance in his current position. Still, he sprang up and hurled himself at the other man. The chains yanked him back just mere millimeters before his hands were able to reach for a black cape. With a dull thud and a metal rattle, Captain America went down.

"Pathetic."

The last thing Steve saw was a circle of blue inside a palm repulsor pointed at him.

~

_They shared the queen-size bed for the rest of the flight._

_Naked limbs lay entwined in a progressive rhythm of dozing, making out, and getting each other off as often as possible; almost as if the second the plane touched ground, everything would be over. After being on the receiving end of Bruce's indeed damn gifted mouth, Tony eventually recovered enough to roll against a chest that had not been as broad and as scarred back in the days._

_He pretended to be just as casual about it as Bruce, who allowed him to nestle into the crook of his arm.  
“So, did you have those fantasies before Timothy, or...?”_  
_They were not having eye contact, which made things a little easier. Bruce gave a minuscule shrug._  
_  
“I'd hardly call it fantasies, more like a certain kind of - curiosity.”_  
_Tony said nothing at first and busied himself tracing the most prominent scars he found in plain sight._  
_“What did Timothy look like?”_  
  
_Bruce's fingers began to absentmindedly play with the unruly curls behind Tony's ear.  
“Dark hair and beard, around 5'10''. Bit of a smart ass, too.”_  
_The hand moved to brush across his sternum before Tony pressed a kiss against Bruce's clavicle._  
  
_“Sounds like you have a type, Boo.”  
His voice was sated and sleep-filled. _  
_“Could be.”_  
  
_Bruce continued to watch the clouds until Tony's breathing evened out soon after._

_~_

The blast had stunned his whole neural system. Feeling like being stung by a thousand needles at once, Steve nevertheless made a move to get up.

"Stay down."

In slow motion, he managed to bend one knee, groaning at the utter noncompliance of his body.

"Final warning."

The artificial voice sounded more irritable than before.

"Screw... you... bastard..."

Each of Steve's words came out in between harsh puffs of air. A whirr that sounded so much like Iron Man then indicated movement of his nemesis. Cold, gauntleted fingers grabbed him by the throat and lifted his 6'2 and 220 lbs body up until his feet lost touch with the floor. Fighting till the end, Steve tried to pry the metal off before he was hurled backward into the wall.

Still dazed from the after-effects of the blast, he slid down into a heap on the ground, gathering his bearings.  
Anonymous armor then pressed some sort of switch on his left gauntlet to which the room plunged into darkness.  
"You should have stayed in the ice, Captain."

Steel-forged doors opened briefly, slammed shut immediately after, and massive footsteps thundered away.

 


End file.
